


Hunter, You Were Human Once

by Torchiclove



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Basira makes bad decisions but it's because of love, Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, Hunt Avatar Alice "Daisy" Tonner, Post-Apocalypse, no happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-24
Updated: 2020-04-24
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:33:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23815441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Torchiclove/pseuds/Torchiclove
Summary: The world ends, but for Basira, there are more pressing matters. An old friend has returned.
Relationships: Basira Hussain & Alice "Daisy" Tonner, Basira Hussain/Alice "Daisy" Tonner
Comments: 3
Kudos: 22





	Hunter, You Were Human Once

Not two weeks out from the day the world comes crashing down, it has the gall to end.

Like a flashbang, like a bright and painful blink, everything shifts and tears and makes itself new. 

Inside the institute, things seem calm. The wrong, awful feelings swirl around Basira, but she can’t see anything, can’t find a concrete reason why her stomach plummets deeper than she can imagine. The faint noise of it howls outside, some unearthly and ungodly sound just pressing on the edge of her hearing.

She feels something wet and warm against the cloth pressed to her ears, and with a start realizes they’re bleeding.

Basira grits her teeth, slips a hand under her hijab and wipes the blood away, takes a deep breath and centers herself. _Think._

She’s just gotten off the phone with Martin less than an hour ago, just heard him say everything was fine, and before she has time to _think it through_ , a piercing scream cuts through the growing noise. Basira heaves a sigh, and heads for the stairs.

Nobody’s supposed to be in the institute, still, not really. She’s there because she looks too much like she knows what she’s doing to raise any suspicions, and there’s no longer active evidence being collected. As soon as she gets into the main building, the front the public sees, the part where someone might just think this is a normal place doing normal things, she has to stop and stare.

The sky’s gone all wrong. The sun that should be beaming down is nowhere to be seen, though there’s some sickly light still keeping everything illuminated. And swirling above, what looked like clouds at first all turn to lock their gaze on her, the millions of eyes that beam like stars down onto the horror.

And Basira thinks, with a sickening dread, they look just like Jon’s.

The window reveals the source of the scream, where some poor woman has put her head through it and stares dead-eyed at the floor. Basira wrinkles her nose instinctively, caught between stepping forward to look and running back downstairs. In the momentary pause, the universe decides for her.

The eyes snap up, still unfocused and hazy, blood dripping in rivulets down the pale face and matting her brown hair. Her body hangs limpy in the window frame, the broken glass piercing her chest, but her arms are moving now, scrabbling for purchase against the wall. She’s pulling herself up off the glass, bleeding without care, her eyes dead-set on Basira the whole time.

There’s a mechanical violence to it. An urge with no emotion, only intention. She pulls her gun, holstered and hidden under the fabric of her thick jacket, and fires three shots into the thing.

It jerks in twitchy, awkward motions as the bullets hit their mark, the force of it sending her backwards, taking glass shards with her. Basira doesn’t stay to watch what she knows will happen next. She turns and runs, back down the stairs and into the archives where she knows where everything is. She bolts the door, throws a box in front of it for good measure, and it’s not long before she hears a rhythmic pounding at it.

She’s surprisingly calm, for all of that. No time to be scared anymore. There’s more pressing matters.

It doesn’t make _sense _for Jon to have done this, unless he was...compelled. Not with Martin back, with how he’s been acting. Maybe this is what Peter was talking about, the birth of Extinction, but then why the eyes?__

__It _must_ have something to do with Elias._ _

__Ignoring the pounding at the door, Basira finds her way to his office._ _

__It’s empty, just about, all his things removed long ago. A bare desk sits in a bare room, everything confiscated as evidence by police desperate to find _something_ they could cobble together into a coherent story. Basira swears under her breath, giving the desk a kick and nearly jumping at the echo of it._ _

__The rhythmic knocking is still there, the disgusting sound of wet meat carrying far too well down the hallways. She tries to think, where there might be something to explain this, what secrets could _possibly_ be tucked away in the archive._ _

__It’d take months to find anything without just _knowing_ , and she doubts Jon is showing up any time soon. The door can’t hold up forever, but she’s sure whatever’s caught her scent sure will._ _

__She laughs in spite of herself. Something in her body feels the requisite fear, she thinks. Some neuron, some receptor, chugging away and making adrenaline, but she just doesn’t _feel_ it. Not after everything, because what’s there to lose?_ _

__There’s no answers, and nothing to save. She’s already accepted death and it was too much of a coward to come for her. All that’s left for her is to _do_ , to take what’s in front of her and deal with it, until the chance to know presents itself._ _

__So Basira sets to work._ _

__

__The barricade is makeshift, ramshackle, broken wooden furniture jammed as hard as they’ll go against the door. The stairs she covers in whatever she can find that’s sharp; smashed mugs from the office kitchen, the ever-present stash of knives that never left even when Melanie did, set pointing up towards their mark._ _

__It won’t die. Things like that don’t have the courtesy to just _die_. But even meat has a point where it can’t move anymore, no matter what puppet strings pull it. _ _

__And she waits. She paces the stacks, eyes flitting over files and statements, half-thinking one might just call out to her. But it doesn’t. The only feeling she gets is that ever-present sensation of being watched, growing stronger as the minutes drag dutifully on, the only timepiece the rhythmic banging of the doorway._ _

__There’s a clock in the institute, of course. One hanging on the wall in the break room, one sitting on the desk in Jon’s office. But the hands tell surreptitious lies, speed along or stop altogether until the only truth to them is that they’re incorrect. They don’t even sync with each other._ _

__It might’ve been a few hours. It might’ve been a whole day. Time doesn’t feel quite right anymore, and all the usual signifiers of it’s passing are gone. The door holds on and the souring fear sits heavy in Basira’s stomach, until it almost ferments into a strange calm._ _

__But the noises change._ _

__With no warning, the pounding at the door stops, before the once so sturdy wood nearly buckles under some unknown weight. The sound of great violence filters from behind it, bestial snarling muffled not only by the barrier, but by the blood and flesh that fills whatever mouth rends and tears at the haunted corpse of bloodlust._ _

__It doesn’t sound like a fight. It sounds like a predator taking down a sickly deer. It sounds like a well-fed dog attacking wild creatures not for the hunger but for the sport of it, tearing them apart and lapping up the blood but leaving the meat to splatter and rot in the ground._ _

__Blood seeps underneath the door, trickling down the stairs. Basira grips her gun tight and ducks behind the bend of the corridor, steadying her breathing._ _

__The sound of meat ends, and the banging begins again, but so much _bigger _. She dares a glance and sees the door coming nearly off its hinges, that lock once so sturdy seeming now paper-thin.___ _

____The wood splinters in the center, a sickening crunch that gets louder with the next shove of the massive body that knocks it finally off its weary hinges._ _ _ _

____That ferocious roar fills the hallway, saliva flying pink and viscous into the stairwell that offers so little protection. The long white teeth of the beast are free from the gore, but the face is not, matted fur streaked in red and gleaming amber eyes staring down._ _ _ _

____Basira shoots on instinct into the hulking mass of pale blonde fur._ _ _ _

____They hit, surely, sinking one after the other into the chest, the shoulder, the thigh as the creature begins to lope down the stairs. The impediments mean nothing to it; the knives scratch and scrape but if it feels pain, it does not show it, and the wood crunches under its mass. The claws curve dark and brutal, wicked sharp and tearing through everything they touch._ _ _ _

____It’s so much faster than Basira. She knows as soon as it clears half the stairs in one vicious bound that she cannot escape it, that neither bullets nor brains can save her. She runs._ _ _ _

____Something about its stride lags, just slightly, as Basira turns tail and beelines to the safest place she can imagine: the tunnels. Its shoulders are broad and thick, much more than the trapdoor down, and something about that place interferes with the supernatural._ _ _ _

____There is nothing natural anymore, she thinks, but there is no time to contemplate it and a few more moments squeezed out of life are better than being rent at the jaws of that which hunts her._ _ _ _

____The beast is fast but clumsy, a great loping thing meant for the wide-open chase. It skids across the floor, its claws tearing up the boards, its shoulders smashing into desks and walls and doorways. Destruction follows in its wake, furniture and paper littered across the floor, blood splattering from the bullet wounds a peppering all it touches. Basira ducks and hides with all the grace she has ever known, with speed that far exceeds what she thought she was capable of._ _ _ _

____And the trapdoor, with a hit of relief that doesn’t even have time to register, is not locked._ _ _ _

____She swings it open and throws herself through as fast as she can, feet hitting the cold stone and continuing their desperate sprint as she can hear the huge shoulders shove roughly against the thick wood. It was right on her heels. There was barely time for it to close, and the beast has wedged it blood-soaked snout underneath the door, scrabbling with those fearsome claws for purchase._ _ _ _

____It’s stuck, she realizes, as the adrenaline starts to seep away and she feels her lungs burn. Basira stumbles and catches herself on the stone wall, turning her head to watch with awe and horror as her pursuer tries aimlessly to fit its massive shoulders through the door, jaws slavering and snapping at the empty air._ _ _ _

____Basira stands, staring down thirty feet of tunnel._ _ _ _

____Stopped by a wooden door, set into stone. The earth does not give way to the bloodlust, but the struggle of the beast is far from over. It thrashes and squirms, deep growl turned to a high keening whine._ _ _ _

____Its eyes never leave her. They stare at their prize, desperate and glimmering, and the want pulses through its ever breath. Basira steps closer, hesitant, but it’s not going anywhere. She’s safe, for now._ _ _ _

____Thirty feet turns to twenty, to ten, and Basira stares into those desperate eyes as the creature slowly loses its fight. The struggling dies down and it simply glares with seething anger at her. A low and haunting howl leaves its throat, somewhere between a threat and a curse._ _ _ _

____In the stillness and the calm, Basira takes it in, the amber glare of eyes that are far from that of the canid it pretends to be. Straw-blonde hair, familiar even through the mats of blood, and on the hunched back of the creature, the hints of a balding starburst set into the skin._ _ _ _

____Basira feels truly afraid._ _ _ _

____Her hand shakes as it grips her gun, but in the back of her mind she knows it’s useless. The flesh of the beast soaked up the bullets like they were nothing. She’d need something more than just a weapon to kill it—to kill her._ _ _ _

____But more than that, more than the futility of unloading clip after clip, Basira doesn’t want to shoot. She sees the hate vibrating in the beast, the malice in the eyes fixed on her as nothing more than prey, but she knows what lurks within._ _ _ _

____“Daisy?” she says softly, like it’s a magic word, like it’s the secret password to unlock her, but the beast just hears the voice and snarls, gnashes its awful teeth and drips drool onto the stone. Basira holds out her hand, fingers shaking slightly, and approaches._ _ _ _

____“Daisy,” she says again, more firm, as her slow steps take her towards the softly growling form, the rattle from its chest sending reverberations so loud she can feel them in her feet. “Where did you go? Why did you come back?”_ _ _ _

____There’s venom there, she realizes, as the words tumble from her mouth, her fingers reaching within inches of the glistening black skin of Daisy’s nose. She rears back her head and snaps, and Basira just manages to pull her hand back quick enough for the teeth to miss her._ _ _ _

____“What were you looking for here?” Another pause as Daisy glares, eyes trained on the fingertips she just missed. “Were you looking for me?”_ _ _ _

____Her gaze shifts, flicking from Basira’s hand to her face. Attentive. The ears prick forward._ _ _ _

____“How do I kill you, then?” Basira asks, letting the edge of anger welling in her seep out, “Huh? Did you expect me to figure that one out? Expect me to come up with some plan?”_ _ _ _

____The wolf barks, but Basira doesn’t flinch as it reveals the rows of sharp teeth. Rows, growing back into the maw and down the throat, coating every part of the inside of the mouth that isn’t a lolling pink tongue. “Did you think Jon would just _know_ how to do it? Well he’s not here, nobody is anymore!”_ _ _ _

____Silence._ _ _ _

____“You left me to deal with it on my own, when I’m not even the one who got _into_ all of this.” She flings her hand wildly, gesturing at the tunnels, the archives, the fears that rage and churn the world outside. “And _look_ where it’s got us.”_ _ _ _

____A soft whine emanates from the great chest, and the ears flex back. Submission. Fear._ _ _ _

____Basira reaches out all at once and clamps her hand onto the blood-stained muzzle, grimacing as she feels the slick wet of fresh gore. Daisy doesn’t move._ _ _ _

____“Daisy,” she says softly, as the trapped form of the beast suddenly causes pity to well in her chest at its pathetic struggle. “I-I’m sorry. I can’t. I don’t...I need time, and knowledge, and just–”_ _ _ _

____The form shifts beneath her palm, slowly and all at once, from the sharp and furred face of the beast to the clammy, pale cheek of the woman who once shared her burden, and all at once Daisy is _there_ , her soft brown eyes staring up at Basira and her legs shaking underneath her._ _ _ _

____“You have to do it,” she says, voice cracked and broken, “ _Kill_ me, Basira.”_ _ _ _

____Basira stares, dumbfounded, drinking in the sound of the voice she never thought she’d hear again, trying with all she had to ignore its request. This is the Daisy she knew, the Daisy that spoke soft and shared her furtive glances, who looked to her with unspoken words and put a reassuring hand on the small of her back._ _ _ _

____Basira does it now, for her, slips the arm not cupping her cheek around her and supports the form that seems so fragile compared to the beast that prowled just before. She almost pulls her into an embrace, but keeps her at arms length._ _ _ _

____“This isn’t me anymore,” Daisy says, tears welling in those big, brown eyes, “Basira, you saw what I am now, and it wants— _I_ want to hurt you. I want to chase you, and trap you, and eat and tear and–”_ _ _ _

____“Daisy,” Basira says, taking the plunge and bringing her body close, pressing it against her own and clasping her head against her chest. She’s warm, so warm, blood burning and boiling beneath the skin, shaking with the strain of it. “You don’t. You’re not.”_ _ _ _

____“For now,” she says, the tears breaking and seeping into Basira’s shirt, “But I can’t hold it back. If there was any hope before, and—and there _wasn’t_ , there’s nothing now, so _please_.”_ _ _ _

____Basira let out a shaky breath, holding Daisy through the sob that wracked her body, trying to stifle the tears that flowed defiantly down her own face._ _ _ _

____“Please, let it end,” Daisy says, “I don’t want to go back.”_ _ _ _

____“Okay,” Basira says, a placating lie that burns her throat like acid, as she sinks to her knees and takes Daisy in her vice-like embrace to the tunnel floor with her. “I’ll find a way. I promise.”_ _ _ _

____A way to cheat once again, to take her time and stretch it into endlessness, to avoid the inevitable whenever it comes. She’ll hold her tight and never let her go, wrap Daisy in her arms so the beast is trapped inside and they can stay together._ _ _ _

____Basira will become the altar for Daisy’s sacrifice, rebirth her in blood and shoulder the cost in any form it takes. Her decision was made._ _ _ _

____“Stay with me a little longer,” Basira says, not sure if it’s to Daisy or the universe._ _ _ _

____“Okay,” Daisy murmurs into her shoulder, even as her fingers itch and her mouth won’t stop watering with the scent of the blood so close beneath the skin._ _ _ _

____Basira looks mournfully at the trapdoor. If she cannot save her now, she will find a way. And the tunnels, once a prison, will serve their purpose once again._ _ _ _

**Author's Note:**

> Originally this had a better ending but then 164 came out and I was like, Actually, what if it didn't.
> 
> Title is from Mitski's "Pearl Diver" aka that quintessential dasira song.


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